


The Earl, Reckless

by RedThreat



Series: Watchdog of the Queen series [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Family, birthday story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedThreat/pseuds/RedThreat
Summary: The boy called Vincent Phantomhive is in a strange place. He has just woken up. He is staring into the darkness.He is in the Funeral Parlour.





	The Earl, Reckless

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! :D
> 
> So I found a Vincent snippet in my collection which I was actually never going to use but decided to revive and expand in the end for the Vincent birthday project of Indochine's (http://midnight-in-town.tumblr.com/)! :D I think you'll think some cool things over there on tumblr through the day.
> 
> Ah, and to the summary, I couldn't help myself but reference Tower of God XD
> 
> Hope you enjoy this little chapter!

_“All Phantomhives were the same – cunning, cursed, and always attracting danger.”_

* * *

 

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – June 1867**

 

 

His eyes needed a few minutes to adjust to the darkness of the room after he woke up. His head and limbs were hurting terribly, and when he tried to move his fingers, he cried out in pain. Still, he fought with himself to sit up; and after what felt like hours, Vincent finally succeeded, sweat covering his skin. Exhausted, he looked around.

 

 

_Where was I?_

_I tried to remember what had happened and where I could be, but the pain hindered me to think properly. What in the world had occurred to me that I was feeling like this now? I didn’t like feeling like that – so weak, so powerless._

_I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the pain which had taken over my body. I breathed in and out and concentrated on something else._

_On my sister Francis, on Tanaka, and my parents. I thought about reading all night long in the library of Phantomhive Manor, about watching Francis fence and smile while doing so, about Tanaka drinking tea, about my father’s gentleness, about Mother looking absentmindedly into the distance. And when the pain slowly faded away, my mind cleared up, finally allowing me to think. I pondered for a moment about what had happened to me ‒ and then, I remembered: Linus Brown and his henchmen had attacked and overpowered me – just because there had been a cat and I had to sneeze. Upon recalling it, horror filled me: Could it be that I was still in Linus’ lair? That I was trapped and he and, or his henchmen would eventually come to me to torture and finish me?_

_No. I definitely wouldn’t let that happen. Not when my name was Vincent Phantomhive, and I still had some of my dignity left._

_Despite the pain running through my body, I forced myself to move. I pressed my teeth together and suppressed screaming out in agony while standing up and walking towards the door. To my surprise, it flew out open upon pressing the handle down. Apparently, these idiots hadn’t calculated that I would try to escape in my condition, or that I would even wake up so soon. Good that the world was overpopulated with idiots. Or how Mother used to put it “with Zounderkites.”_

_I struggled my way through the corridors which were all grey and plain. I had never seen this place before. Where had they taken me? Deep into some kind of gaol? Leaning onto the walls, I headed to the stairs. My body was weak, and every step hurt more and more. Still, I pushed myself to go on. I was soaked in sweat, and I feared that I could pass out any minute. I was bandaged and not even properly dressed, my bare feet brushing over the semi-clean ground, but I wouldn’t allow myself to get down without a fight. After all, I was a Phantomhive. And Phantomhives never gave up._

 

 

“What are you doing here?” an oddly familiar voice suddenly asked behind him, and if Vincent hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have flinched. He stopped moving when a slender and bony hand grabbed his wrist. And then, the person to whom the voice belonged walked in front of him. Vincent narrowed his eyes, the light in the corridor not the best.

“Undertaker?” he said, his throat dry, and his own voice raspy and unfamiliar to his ears.

“You should have stayed in bed,” Undertaker murmured. Then, without saying anything, the mortician put Vincent’s arm around his own shoulder and transported him to the kitchen. Having arrived there, Undertaker seated Vincent on a chair before he left the room to get him a blanket.

“Not a blanket,” Vincent struggled to say when Undertaker returned with the blanket. “They tried to strangle me with one. I may be traumatised.”

“You are not traumatised – you have only suffered some physical traumas.”

“‘Trauma,’ ‘traumatised’ – where’s the difference?”

Undertaker wrapped him up and sighed. “How could you be so foolish to leave your bed and walk around like that? You are injured after all.” He turned away from Vincent and filled a kettle with water which he then put on the cooker. “Even after all the effort, I put into rescuing you.”

 

 

_Now I remembered. Just before Linus and his men were able to kill me, Undertaker had mysteriously arrived._

 

 

“So… so I am in the Funeral Parlour?” Vincent asked with difficulty.

Undertaker chuckled bitterly. “My, my. Seems like the strike you got on your head was even worse than I had imagined it would be.” And then, he suddenly stood right in front of Vincent, the fingers of his right hand dug into the young Earl’s dark hair. Surprised, Vincent looked up to the mortician.

“You are all right... aren’t you?” Undertaker said, his voice strangely low. And there was something in his voice Vincent had never found there before. Something like...

 

 

Fear _. Was I imagining things due to my injuries, or had Undertaker really sounded worried just now?_

 

 

“I... I am,” Vincent struggled to say. “I am fine.”

Like always, Undertaker’s eyes were obscured by his long bangs, but this time, they cast long shadows over his face as he ruffled through Vincent’s hair. “They...” he started but broke off and tightened his grip on Vincent’s hair. “They haven’t done anything to you, have they?”

“Well... they... they have beaten me up, Undertaker,” Vincent replied, puzzled.

“I didn’t mean that,” Undertaker harshly said, even making Vincent flinch which immediately sent new waves of pain through his body.

“But what do you...”

“ _Vincent_ ,” Undertaker interrupted him. Vincent’s eyes widened when he realised that the mortician had called him by his given name for the first time since they had met on the previous Earl and Countess of Phantomhive’s funeral.

“Have I been... on time?”

 

 

 _I had never experienced him like this. Usually, Undertaker was carefree and always making jokes and teased the hell out of others ‒ I just couldn’t stand him being like this. So full of worry, so full of fear… and self-hatred. And it was like something inside me fell apart hearing his scared voice. He was worried about me ‒ he was_ sincerely _frightened that Linus’ henchmen had done something even more terrible to me than just beating me up before he had arrived._

_In what kind of condition had he found me? What had he seen that he was so afraid?_

_And suddenly, I remembered._

_Suddenly, my memory came back to me._

_Linus’ men pulling on my clothes, their hands on my bare skin, the horror which had taken over my body when I felt their hands on me ‒ and I knew. I knew what Undertaker feared so much. What he feared that he had not been able to prevent._

_I didn’t know why, but for some reason, I thought that I should take his hand ‒ and so I did before I started to speak._

 

 

“They have only beaten me up, Undertaker,” Vincent stated as firmly and softly as he could in his current condition. He pressed Undertaker’s slender and oddly cold hand and even managed to get a smile on his lips. He didn’t know why but he didn’t want him to be all worried and serious; he wanted him to be like always: joking and laughing.

 

 

_I was glad that he did not withdraw his hand._

_When Mother and Father died, it had been a shock to us all._

_It had been so sudden._

_It had gone so quick._

_We had not been able to say goodbye. I would have wanted to say goodbye._

_It had all gone so fast – and then, the funeral had come, and I had feared that I could never let go of them. But I knew, I had to. And so, I had stood there with a straight back and without expression, holding my sister’s hand as the new Earl of Phantomhive._

_When everyone else had been long gone, Francis and I were still there – Tanaka watching over us in the distance. But he had not been the only one – there had been one more person watching us on the Phantomhive cemetery: Undertaker. And unlike Tanaka, he had eventually approached us – and from that day on, I could not imagine a life without Undertaker anymore._

_I held his hand a little bit tighter._

 

 

Without saying anything, Undertaker slowly ran his hand through Vincent’s hair; and for a split second his bangs didn’t cover one of his eyes and Vincent could glimpse at something green.

“You look just like your father,” Undertaker said, surprising Vincent once again.

“How do you know how he looked like?” he asked before grasping the answer himself. “Oh, right. You’ve buried him.”

The mortician continued to ruffle through Vincent’s hair. “But you’re more like your mother in personality.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yes. Just like her, you have the terrible habit to frequently get yourself in dangerous situations.”

“But...” Vincent started, but Undertaker cut him off.

“Do you really think that your mother got herself in only _one_ dangerous situation which even killed her? If you do, I have to inform you that you are hopelessly wrong. She was _a Phantomhive by blood_ after all. And your lot attract trouble like light attracts mosquitoes ‒ you are a family of weirdness magnets.”

Again, Undertaker passed his hand over Vincent’s head. “Unfortunately, you did not turn out to be an exception to this rule, so you should be more careful. I don’t want to bury another Phantomhive before they turn at least fifty.”

With wide eyes, Vincent gazed up at Undertaker who had turned his face away from him.

 

 

_Why was he telling me all this?_

 

 

“But how do you know all of this? How did you know my parents so well?”

Undertaker chuckled, and faint bitterness resonated in his voice when he spoke. “I knew them better than anyone else, boy.”

Suddenly, he removed his hand from Vincent’s head and turned back to the kettle which had started to whistle a little while ago now.

“But _how_?” Vincent wanted to know. “I have never seen you before the funeral. If you were such a good friend to my parents, why have I never seen you before? Why haven’t I been told this before?”

“You have never seen me before the funeral because before you were born, your parents became estranged from me,” Undertaker answered him after a long pause, putting the kettle from the cooker and preparing some cups of tea. “And you have not been informed about this before because none of your servants was there when I was friends with your parents.”

“What happened? When you had been such good friends – how did you become estranged from one another that you never talked again?”

“Also, think of your sister,” Undertaker said, not wanting to talk about this topic anymore. “You aren’t the only one who lost someone not even a year ago. She is also still grieving ‒ imagine what you would do to her if you died similarly than your mother.”

 

 

Franny.

 _He was right. He was trying to distract me, but he was right. How could I have headed out to fight Linus and his henchmen all on my own without even sparring at least_ one thought _about how it could affect Francis? How could I have been so blind and idiotic?_

 

 

“I still want to know what divided my parents and you,” Vincent said, but then, there was a knock on the entrance door which drew Undertaker’s attention away from him.

 

 

Very well, don’t answer me today, Undertaker _, I thought,_ but don’t think that I will forget that.

 

 

An amused chuckled escaped Undertaker’s mouth, having reassumed his normal persona. “Speaking of the Lady of Phantomhive~.”

He left the kitchen and only a few minutes later, Vincent’s sister, Francis Phantomhive, entered it. Her hair and clothes were as orderly as always, but her eyes were dishevelled with rage.

“How could you be so foolish!” she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips and hovering over her elder brother. “How can so much foolishness fit into a single person? Tell me!”

“I am sorry, Franny,” Vincent replied, but Francis wouldn’t be Francis if she had just ended this conversation after receiving a simple apology.

“Do you think this is enough? That you can just say ‘I am sorry, Franny’ to make me forgive you? _Perhaps_ it would work if you had done something small and unimportant, but for something like that, it takes a lot more to give. After all, you nearly _died_ , Vincent!

“And why did you nearly die?” Francis changed her voice to mimic her brother. “‘I assure you, dearest Francis, I will not go after Linus Brown all on my own! I swear on my collection of ancient knives _and_ my treasured book ‘1001 Ways to Make Knots’ that I, Vincent Pumpernickel Phantomhive, the one Phantomhive child not excelling in combat and swordsmanship, will go with Tanaka and you first thing in the morning!’”

“My second name is not ‘Pumpernickel,’” Vincent replied.

Undertaker chortled, appearing all of a sudden behind Francis. “Are you certain? With your mother’s terrible naming skill?”

“Father had a say in our names.”

“Did he? I tell you he hadn’t. I mean – why is your sister’s name spelled with an ‘i’ rather than an ‘e’?”

“His sister,” Francis said, turning her head to scowl at Undertaker, “is standing right in front of you and would appreciate it if you didn’t talk over her head, especially if you could ask her about certain things rather than addressing her brother, Mr Undertaker.”

He giggled. “Just as bold as your dear mother, aren’t you? And it’s just ‘Undertaker,’ Lady Phantomhive.

“Very well – then answer my question.”

“Mother misspelled my name because she wrote it down right after giving birth to me because the physician wanted a name and Father didn’t know which one she had chosen.”

Undertaker grinned at Vincent. “See? Your dear papa didn’t have a say in your names, boy.”

“Pumpernickel,” Francis said. “Vincent Pumpernickel Messyhair. Mother gave him that name because Father returned from Germany on the day before his birth and brought pumpernickel, and because, even right after his birth, the few hairs he had were messy.”

“My middle names aren’t ‘Pumpernickel’ and ‘Messyhair,’” Vincent protested, shifting on his chair, trying to find a position in which it didn’t hurt too much.

“Who says that I didn’t change your name while you napped in Undertaker’s bed after putting yourself in danger to punish you for your reckless behaviour?” She glared at him. “I am not finished with tearing you off a strip.”

Undertaker put a hand on her shoulder. “My, my, Lady Phantomhive. Don’t yell at him now.”

“Why didn’t you say this the first time she yelled at me?” Vincent interjected, but Undertaker ignored him.

“You can yell at him as much as you want after he has recovered. Also, screaming like that won’t benefit your own health.”

 

 

_I couldn’t wait to recover and pay them back._

 

 

“And if you could excuse me now, Lady Phantomhive,” Undertaker added, “I have to see after my other guest now.”

Before Francis could answer, Undertaker had vanished. She walked towards her brother and carefully wrapped her arms around him, and Vincent returned the hug.

“If you ever do this again, I will punch you into one of Undertaker’s special coffins,” Francis mumbled.

He laughed, not caring how much pain it brought to his body. “I couldn’t expect less from you, Franny.”

“I always expect less from you, Vinny.”

Vincent chuckled and hugged her a tiny little bit tighter.

 

 

 

**~~~***~~~**

 

**_Bonus of the Bonus ~ Meanwhile, on the ground floor of the Funeral Parlour_ **

“How much time shall we give them?” Undertaker asked, pouring his guest and himself a cup of tea. He always had a teapot filled with tea right by his workspace.

“I suggest ten minutes,” Tanaka said, nodding in thanks when he took the cup from Undertaker.

Undertaker grinned. “And how much longer do you say will it take for the boy to remember which day is today?”

“From his condition which you have described to me, I would say that it will take until we arrive at Phantomhive Manor.” Tanaka took a sip. “Lady Francis was rather agitated when she found his bed to be empty this morning. She prepared a lot for today – after all, the Young Master will not be at home at this day next year as he will return to Weston College next term.”

Undertaker chuckled and offered Tanaka one of his bone-shaped biscuits which the butler declined before stuffing it into his own mouth. “Did these children inherit anything from her husband?”

“I am afraid, the Mistress overpowered him in this aspect.”

As if to undermine Tanaka’s words, the sound of something heavy falling onto the ground followed by muffled yells came from the kitchen.

Tanaka and Undertaker shared a quick look before briefly shaking their heads in unison and resuming their biscuit-eating and tea-drinking.


End file.
